We, seekers of the night, gather here at the footsteps of the path that leads to eternity. We who  gather in the space of answering to ask. We listen to the still of night and hear echoes of pain ripple through the silence.

We, who sit in dark rooms, hugging our knees and praying to gods we don’t believe exist for salvation that we know will not come.

We who travel, lost inside ideas of possibility. We, who travel, constantly searching for a space. We who travel because we don’t know how to stay still. We who travel because we know we are yet  to arrive. We who travel because our feet are stained.

Whose stained footprints leave a clear path for the demons to follow. Who have to keep moving because stopping means that catch up with us. Who have to remind ourselves every morning that there is reason. There is reason

There is reason

There is reason

There is reason


A question,

she said,

is never answered

until the answer

is the question.

We who have tried to erase the ink on the souls of our feet but have only ended up with ink on our hands. Now, staring at forever. We stand still in silence. Ink stained fingers reach for an ink stained doorknob. And a question.

What now?

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